My kitchen is the heart of my home. My friends all like to hang out in there instead of in my more spacious living room.
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My kitchen is the heart of my home. My friends all like to hang out in there instead of in my more spacious living room.
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When I was a kid, every morning before going to school, my mum would prepare for me a big bowl of warm milk with some biscuits. Once I was a little older, I was allowed to stain my milk with a few drops of coffee. As an adult, I consumed my breakfast at the coffee bar, surrounded by other customers, chatting away with the barista. The home-made caffelatte had become a frothy cappuccino dusted with chocolate, and the biscuits were replaced with a warm, flaky croissant. This was something that, the whole time I lived in Italy, I thought was the normal thing to do in the morning before going to work. Everything changed when I moved to the UK British v. ContinentalMy first encounter with the Great British fry-up came when a friend of ours stayed overnight. In the morning I found him early at the stove. The aroma of frying bacon and sausages filled my kitchen. He was frying two eggs in what seemed like a lake of hot oil. I gave him a puzzled look – was he cooking an early lunch? He told me he was preparing a 'basic' breakfast. He explained he hadn't been able to find tinned beans in my larder, or tomatoes or mushrooms in my fridge. He had been to the corner shop for the bacon and sausages. He was happy to have found some eggs, though. With perfect British politeness, he had just described me as a poor host He sat down at the table with a loaded plate and a mug of milky tea. I couldn't resist preparing a home-made frothy cappuccino – I possess a coffee machine – with a couple of slices of toast with butter and jam. I sat down at the opposite end of the table and we started on our respective breakfasts. It was a zen moment – I've learned that Brits prefer to keep themselves to themselves at breakfast as they contemplate the day ahead. It's the only time they're allowed to read a newspaper while eating. This time, however, my guest broke with tradition and started to praise the tradition of the Great British fry-up when compared to my poor pseudo-continental breakfast. What makes a tradition?Ever since then, I've been obsessed with finding out just how traditional the full English breakfast really is, and I've discovered that the traditional Full English, consisting of eggs, bacon, sausages, tomatoes, beans on toast and mushrooms, is a myth. The real British fry-up varies from place to place. In the North of England it will include black pudding. In Scotland, it's square sliced sausage, haggis and potato scones. London has its bubble and squeak, and Wales its laverbread. The Ulster fry includes Irish soda bread and in Cornwall they insist on Cornish hogs pudding, a kind of sausage. No tomatoes or baked beans on the plate, you'll notice. The baked beans first appear circa 1950, when greasy spoon cafes started to flourish and they could import tinned beans from America. Cheap cafes needed cheap food, and canned beans were very cheap indeed Tomatoes are not traditional, either. Probably, in the 60's, a Mediterranean tour operator added them to his breakfast menu when he realised a cup of coffee and a croissant would not satisfy hungry British tourists. So there you have it - the traditional full English breakfast is a mash-up of traditions, canny marketing and cheap food supply. Traditions are that evolve with time, adding enriching elements to life. What could be more British than American beans and Mediterranean tomatoes?
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AuthorI love cooking, and when it comes to quality I'm quite fussy. Archives
February 2018
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